A handful of members of the Butte Sports Hall of Fame 2024 induction class took to the podium to talk about their recent election into the Mining City shrine.
Family members of some of those who will be inducted posthumously also spoke during the press conference at the Butte Civic Center.
Steve Schulte gave the longest speech, while Betty Merrifield gave the shortest. Betty just said she was honored, and she said thank you.
Matt Buckley was the funniest speaker, and Bruce Sayler was the quietest. We knew going in that both of those would be true.
In his quiet comments, Bruce said that he was going into the Hall of Fame simply for watching sports. He said he was just a lucky guy who never had to work for a living.
We know both of those are not really true. But I believe wholeheartedly that Bruce truly feels that way. You just cannot fake the kind of humility Bruce demonstrates every single day.
For more than half a century, Bruce was the first draft of history when it came to local sports and local sports heroes. Since 1978, he has written about athletes from Butte.
Bruce was never just “watching sports,” like he says. He wasn’t just documenting it, either.
Through the years, Bruce has always had a special way to eloquently capture the action at the games and describe it in a fashion that burned it into our minds.
He somehow made the biggest games feel even bigger. He turned superstars like Meg Haran, Don Douglas, Brian Morris, Josh Paffhausen and so many more into legends.
Here is how Bruce opened his story about Morris leading Butte Central to a win in Deer Lodge in the Sept. 19, 1981 edition of the Standard:
“Churn, churn. Smack. Grind, Grind. Smack. Crash. Thump.
“That’s Morris Code.
“And, it signaled a 16-14 Western A high school football victory for the Butte Central Maroons over the Deer Lodge Wardens Friday night at Ted Rule Field.”
The poetic brilliance of that opening is only topped by the image of Bruce writing it, clanking away on an old typewriter in the smoky newsroom of the Standard, with a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Years later, coaches told young players about how Morris, who went on to play at Stanford University, always kept his “legs churning.” Bruce’s description of Morris cement that legacy of the great runner.
Like the running, the writing was pure art.
Bruce did not create Morris, but he certainly elevated his lore in a town full of sports heroes.
Here’s one more sentence about Morris in that same story:
“Brian Morris, a 6-5, 201-pound senior tailback, carried the Maroons to Friday night’s win and also packed quite a few Deer Lodge defenders while gaining 189 yards in 30 carries.”
I dream of writing a sentence like that. Bruce has been doing it over and over his entire professional life, which is in its 51st school year covering high school and college sports.
Bruce, who will turn 72 before the Butte Sports Hall of Fame Class of 2024 is inducted in July, could have retired years ago. He still writes for ButteSports.com because he loves what he does.
Maybe that is why he says he never worked a day in his life.
I grew up reading Bruce — along with Hudson Willse and Jim Edgar — in the newspaper. I call that the “golden age of sports writing” in the Mining City, and it was. For years, we had three of the best sportswriters around covering our teams.
Bruce could have easily moved up and taken his game to a major newspaper. The only reason he didn’t was that he met a girl and fell in love. He also fell in love with his adopted hometown.
Sports fans in Southwest Montana are lucky on both accounts.
As far as not working goes, well, that is certainly not the case with Bruce.
I was with him at the Standard for 14 years, and I knew exactly what Bruce did to make sure that we got every game in the paper every night. That included all of the boys and all of the girls.
Bruce was a true pioneer when it came to making sure girls got equal coverage.
Getting the scores and boxscores in the paper each night was no easy task. We had to take calls over the phone, and we had to read horrible copies off the fax machine, too.
Bruce made sure we were persistent and correct. He demanded excellence in his sports section, and he got it. It seemed like organized chaos on many nights, but Bruce was there to make sure it all came together in the end.
For a large portion of his career, Bruce’s days off were Tuesday and Wednesday. Those are far from ideal days off for a family man.
But he knew that when you are a sportswriter, you miss weddings, birthday, anniversaries and so many other great occasions with family and friends. Bruce never complained about what he was missing out on, though.
Unless it was the shortsighted corporation that owned the paper making cutbacks that directly affected the sports page, Bruce rarely complained about anything.
Rather, he sees the best in every situation and every person.
For whatever reason, Bruce always saw the best in me, too. I cannot count the number of times he was in the publisher’s office defending Matt Vincent and me when people were offended by what we wrote in our “Rat Chat” column.
Bruce inspired me to become a sportswriter when I was in high school. Then he worked harder than anyone to make sure I kept that job.
No other sports editor in the world would have signed off on “Rat Chat.” But Bruce let us be ourselves, and I think the readers had fun because of that.
Vinny and I jokingly referred to Bruce as the “Big Boss.” It is something that we stole from the old television show “News Radio.”
Of course, we were being a bit ironic. While Bruce was clearly in charge, he never felt like a boss. He was always so much more of a mentor and a friend.
To work with Bruce was to love Bruce. Everybody who ever worked with him will tell you that.
In December of 2002, Bruce suffered a heart attack — which was likely brought on by the stress from his job. He went into work late on a Monday night, which was supposed to be his night off, to do some scheduling work.
On his way home, the heart attack hit, and Bruce crashed his truck into a pole on the corner of Park and Wyoming streets, smashing his legs and breaking many other bones, including multiple ribs.
Bruce could have easily gone on disability and never worked gain. But he was loyal to the company, coworkers and readers. Plus, he loved that job.
So, Bruce battled his way back to his seat in the newsroom — this time without the cigarette.
A dozen years after he left the paper, Bruce is showing no signs that he is ready to stop. If he isn’t writing about a local game, you can usually find him there watching.
In July, Bruce will be inducted into the Butte Sports Hall of Fame. He will officially join the sports immortals he helped immortalize.
Bruce will tell you that he doesn’t know why he was picked for his plaque to join the prestigious wall at the Butte Civic Center.
But we all know why.
We know that nobody does it better than that quiet man we call the Big Boss.
— Bill Foley, who owes his entire career to the quiet Bruce Sayler, can be reached at foles74@gmail.com. Follow him at twitter.com/Foles74. Listen to him on the ButteCast on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or wherever you find your favorite podcasts.
The ButteCast with Bill Foley 